


Even Garbage Men Need Sleep

by SomethingToShare



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Claustrophobic environment, Deceit Mention, Described anxiety attack/depressive episode, Don't copy to another site, Murder joke, implied negative past, implied nudity (non-sexual and undescribed- he changes into PJs), snake - Freeform, symptoms of extreme exhaustion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 05:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingToShare/pseuds/SomethingToShare
Summary: A very tired Remus shares an idea with his bro.





	Even Garbage Men Need Sleep

  
The Duke watched as he swung his legs back and forth off the edge of the bunk, feet brushing lazily against empty candy wrappers which skittered across the floorboards. His shoulders and chest buzzed, a cluster of electricity humming at the core of his being. _Is this how the little emo always feels? He must be exhausted._

Picking up one of the wrappers from the ground, Creativity watched as his twitching hand loosened its grip, dropping the trash back onto the ground.

He didn’t remember letting go.

Their room was dark, the door closed. It hadn’t been long since Thomas went to bed, so he knew that ‘The Prince’ couldn’t be too far behind. If they were quiet, his plan wouldn’t bother Thomas. They’re Thomas’ Creativities, after all; both had a small portion of the dreaming realm carved out for themselves, and a little thinking never hurt anybody. The side stifled a yawn.

As the door cracked open and light spilled in, Remus grinned, forcing the fizzing in his chest to ignite into sparks of his usual, turbulent energy.

“BROTHER.” He screamed: Said brother reciprocated with a loud shriek. Slamming a hand over his mouth, Roman looked behind him and waited. The halls were quiet; either no-one had heard, or they were too tired to care. His screaming upon entering what used to simply be ‘Roman’s Room’ had become normal, as of late.

Eyebrows furrowed, he turned to his brother and lowered his hand to reveal a grimace.

“_Duke_,” Roman growled, closing the door and flicking on the lights. The bedroom came into view with a glowing chandelier, glittering high above them in the centre of four closely compacted walls. So compact, in fact, that the grand display of light pushed against the sides of the room, scraping off-kilter against blanched walls, tinged with lime. The glittering beams of light it shone were stretched and distorted, shadows bleeding in long, dark streaks. The Prince’s hands twitched slightly, becoming still as he took a steadying, aggravated breath. “Why would you-? Ugh, did you _seriously_ change the room _again_? We’ve been over this; Rule One, if the subconscious really is_ forcing_ us to share a room, then we are going to have _entirely_ separate beds, mine on the left and yours on the right: _No_ bunk beds. Rule Two, the room will stay big enough to fit the chandelier as well as the wardrobes, _and_ large enough that I don’t have to see your dumb face all the time. Rule Thirdly, and _most importantly_, the walls-“ Roman flourished his right hand, pointing upwards, and a glittering light scaled the walls, “-are supposed to be ‘_dove_ _white_’, not ‘sea oat’! Tell me, how is a prince supposed to be taken seriously if his room isn’t even approaching presentable?”

Remus blinked, then swirled this left hand around, the walls slimed once more with an ocean-oaty colour. “NO.” Roman shouted, letting out a strangled noise of frustration, snapping his fingers to return the walls to a pure white. Remus flopped an arm, and the colours wilted. His brother let out a frustrated whine, forcefully pushing frazzled strands of hair away from his eyes.

“It’s too briiight.” Remus groaned. Roman looked at the walls again.

“Eugh,” The Prince stuck his tongue out in a dramatic tableau of a retch, “do you actually like this shade? What is wrong with you?” Remus shrugged. “Fine, whatever, I’m too tired for this.” He huffed, removing his scarlet sash and winding it slowly around an arm to form a neat bundle of cloth. “Besides, I am far too good to be wasting my time talking to _you_.” His brother raised his eyebrows slightly, glancing at the floor. Almost as if he were contemplating something, but- no, Roman thought, shaking his head. That didn’t sound like Remus at all.

His brother looked back at The Prince, clearing his throat.

“Do you want to see something cool?"

“_No_.” Roman walked over to his closet, a large white wardrobe engraved with sweeping spirals and curls. Flinging it open, he looked out over the plush emerald gardens on the other side and placed the sash on a nearby stone, pillowed by bright-green moss. Remus squinted as the sunlight flooded their room.

Raising one hand towards his chest and the other upwards, The Prince whistled a sweet, short tune. Two birds fluttered over to hold a large and golden silk cloth between the twins. Remus waited, propping his head up casually with an arm, perched atop a tucked leg. His eyes wandered the room slowly, craning his neck to stare at the glittering glass speckled high above them. Like shattered stars. The only sound in the air was the gentle chippering of birdsong, the flutter of tiny wings, and the gentle blow of a summer wind; all radiating from Roman’s open closet. A scene so calm, so much brighter than what the ‘other’ side was used to. He could hardly bear it.

Remus tried to force away the heaviness in his body. Brush it off, reach for the fumes that carried the strange, disturbing thoughts of the subconscious into his mind.

_Be what you are, and play your part._

Lifting a silent hand to a glistening eye, however, seemed to finally drain him of whatever force had been keeping him upright.

He began to slouch.

Glancing up, The Duke noted that his brother was still turned away, occupied and, as usual, unaware of the scene unfolding right behind him.  
The sparks inside his chest circled each other, spinning faster. Burning. Hurting. Fire. Then it was gone, the energy he once had now sinking a deep hole into his chest, barbed with dark, grey wire of chipping, aching static. He reached to gently touch it and found nothing but his own skin, pounding against his hand. The arm flopped back down. He was exhausted, utterly. Thomas wasn’t the only one who was affected by their intrusive thoughts, not that he’d ever let anyone know.

The Duke took one more moment to breathe in the fresh air from Roman’s wardrobe before, as it was every night, slowly turning over onto the bed to pull the covers over himself, burning eyes refusing to close. Roman groaned, head rolling against his shoulders, regret already spilling into his wordless tone. Behind him, Remus froze, covers in hand, eyes wide. “Okay, FINE, what game?”

Inside his chest, something glittered. Bed forgotten, Remus kicked himself off and shot up with a face-splitting grin, leaning backwards to dramatically reach behind himself. Hand returning empty, he turned around to look at the collection of junk on his bed and began to shuffle through his assortments in a frenzy, all the while a hum bubbling in the back of his throat. _Sweet Alexander Hamilton! I’ve opened Pandora’s box now, haven’t I._ Roman rolled his eyes.

A troupe of squirrels carried his clothes away whilst a beautiful, golden-brown stag with honeyed eyes emerged from the distant line of trees, carrying his red pyjama shirt and trousers, patterned with trails of gold on the cuffs, edges and collar. He threw them on and whistled a few melodic notes to the birds, who flittered away as Roman finished buttoning up his shirt, closing the wardrobe with one hand and cutting off the warm breeze from inside. Their room had turned bleak in the dim shadows.

“THE GAME,” Remus announced, raising a damp cardboard box triumphantly with both arms outstretched, taking a small step towards his brother, “IS WHAT I’VE BEEN CALLING ‘TRUTH AND DARE’.”

“Uh, that already exists, Duke.” Roman said, turning away from the closet.

“Huh?” Remus lowered the soggy box, eyes wide and smile faded.

“You know, ‘Truth or Dare’?” The crooked smile returned, box held close to his chest.

“Nonono,” He tutted quickly, waving a finger in his brother’s face before briskly bopping him on the nose. “you misunderstand! I said Truth _and_ Dare, Princey.”

“Pfft, same difference.”

“Same BUTT.”

“What.”

“The aim of the game,” Remus continued, rhythmically shaking the box from one side to the other, “is to get the other players to complete as many truths or dares as possible, but-“ He giggled. “Butt.” He chuckled, then coughed. Stilling himself, he gave the box a light but firm pat, face solemn and stern. “_Butt_, you have to avoid doing as many _yourself_ as possible.” As he finished the thought, Remus’ face broke into another grin, shoulders wriggling.

“That doesn’t make sense: Wouldn’t everyone take the same number of turns?” Roman walked over to the ladder that led to the top bunk, glancing up before looking back down at his brother with slightly tired, brightly curious eyes. Remus plunked himself onto the floor, crinkling with the sound of trash parting beneath him (only for their Duke). Carefully opening the box, he stuck a hand inside while he spoke,

“THAT’S where the fun comes in.” Pulling out, he held a thin piece of lightly crumpled paper, cut into the approximate shape of a playing card. Leaning in, Roman could make out a messy scrawl of the words ‘Power Up!’ on the side faced towards him, with the shadow of more writing cast from the other side of the cheap paper. “Truths and Dares are written on ‘Action’ cards, whilst the extras are ‘Power Up’ cards. Everyone could get, say, five Action cards each, and they have to put one card forward per turn. The players can use cards to swap, inspect, steal or force cards onto others, or even add additional tasks to whatever that player’s next action is. If they play their _cards_ (HEH) right, then a player could use a card to make someone else take their action, or something.”

“That way,” The Prince murmured, slowly taking the card from Remus’ hand and lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, “a classic game of ‘Truth or Dare’ could become something competitive, something that has more excitement to it than just making the dares more and more obscene and the truths increasingly personal!”

“I mean,” Remus said, flipping the card in Roman’s hand, “it doesn’t have-“ it said ‘Bonus Round! During your next dare, pretend to kill a man and flee the country with only the weight of your sins to comfort you.’ “-to be that way, but it could be.” Roman stared at the card, then back at The Duke, eyebrows raised.

“…No.” He said, waving the card in his hand.

“Fine. That can be part of the special edition.” He took the card back, placing it on his bed behind him, “But- But the idea is still good. Something we could work on?”  
“Well, there’s definitely some improvement to be had, but-“ Remus leaned ever so slightly towards his brother, waiting for his reply. Waiting. _Waiting_? Roman’s posture suddenly straightened, blinking quickly. Silent.

“Wait,” The Prince said, looking at the cardboard box now propped on The Duke’s lap, “you made this. Like, _made_-this-made-this, you didn’t just conjure it with the Imagination.” Remus fiddled with the top of the box, staring into the dark square where its sides didn’t quite meet.

“It’s more fun to make things with your hands sometimes.” He said, “Even if it’s not as good.” Roman watched as his brother’s hands trembled. One side of the box had clearly been folded over many times in an attempt to solve the problem, but it fell short, crumpled and torn where the cardboard had been twisted over time.

“That can be true.” Roman hummed. For the first time in… however long it had been, he looked at his twin, _really_ looked. Something clicked; it was as if Roman was, for the first time, seeing his brother clearly.

Dark brown eyes with a shimmering, oily layer of green, quiet shadows bunched beneath like quiet bruises; his hair was brushed back yet frizzled, and his smile was ghostly, long and weak. “Uh…” Remus’ eyes wandered to meet his own, glazed and distant, hollow. His smile was gone. “Have you been slee- GAH!” Roman quickly shuffled backwards, knocking into the wall. “Is that a SNAKE?”

Remus giggled as he lifted the black snake to head height, speckled with freckles of red.

“This is Tiffany! Deceit gave her to me.”

“That’s- Great. Um,” Roman touched his chin absentmindedly, biting a nail, “how long has she been in this room?” He mumbled the question out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not like she lives here or anything. This Little Lady comes and goes as she pleases. Tiffany just _loves_ slithering about at night.”

_So that’s why Thomas has been having more snake-related dreams. I thought that might have been Deceit’s doing- although I guess it was, in a way. At least she’s cute._

“Where did she come from, where did she go,” Remus murmured to his sleek companion, patting her gently with two fingers. “Where did she come from, cotton-“

“Alright, that didn’t _really_ answer my question but, you know what? Never mind. I’m tired, Sleeping needs his Beauty, and I’ve never been one to keep my dreams waiting.” Remus stared as The Prince rose from the ground, brushing off the trash from his pyjamas. “Goodnight.” He said, grabbing the ladder with one hand.

“Wait.” A small voice. Roman stopped. His brother was a chatty, gross, rude and annoying character; for him to ask something so directly, without immediately starting his next monologue on a morbid or overly sexual suggestion? Weird. And, if Roman was being completely honest with himself, worrying.

Now that he thought about it, they had just spent the last five minutes _talking_. Having an actual conversation, though not without Remus’ odd eccentricity here and there. His brother hadn’t been shouting an ‘idea’ at him, nor had Roman himself been muttering plans for a new creative enterprise, trying to block out Remus’ constant chatter. They had been-

Had they been-?

“What is it?” The gentleness of his tone surprised both himself and Remus, who now looked at Roman, rather than through him.

“Can we do this again some time?” The question was quiet but steady. Tiffany uncurled from his arm and slithered towards the shadows beneath Remus’ bed. Roman loosened his grip on the ladder.

“We haven’t made anything together since we were six.” He breathed out. There was something painful and strained behind his brother’s gently upcurled lips.

“You haven’t spoken to me since we were six.” Roman looked away. Remus watched him, cradling the box in his hands with care.

_I couldn’t. Patton split us up for a reason. I promised._

_But if I’m supposed to be the good one, then… Shouldn’t_ _I __do what _I _think is right?_

“Um,” Roman scratched his face, eyes faced towards the ceiling, “okay.” The other side froze, hunched amongst the litter on the carpet floor.

“Really?” He whispered.

“Yeah, really.” With that, Remus exhaled, blinking slowly, seemingly caught off-guard by Roman’s reply. “Well, goodnight.” Roman rushed out, scurrying up the ladder to his thrown-about white and gold covers and rows of plush Disney characters. Turning to the wall beside him, he flicked a switch and blindly grabbed as many stuffed toys as he could, burying his face into Thumper and Tigger’s snuggly sides as the chandelier dimmed, then fled into the room’s darkness.

Slowly, box in hands, Remus rose off the floor just enough to fall back down onto his bed, below Roman. Like the floor, it was covered in random pieces of trash, a couple of empty deodorant cans toppling off the mattress as he lay down on top of his crumpled black and green sheets. Still fully clothed (except for one shoe and a sock, both of which he had definitely been wearing an hour ago), Remus put the box on his chest and reached above his head, groping aimlessly until his fingers made contact with something soft and torn; thin, soft strings hung loose, drooping and splitting in a fuzzy mess at their ends. Pulling it towards his chest, Remus hugged the ragged, stained Stitch and began to fiddle with the plushie’s left ear, the bumpy, soft texture rubbing between his thumb and index finger.

_Really_, he mouthed, barely making a sound as he stared at the ceiling. Eventually, the mattress above him stopped squeaking, and he could safely assume that his brother was asleep. He planted a kiss on Stich’s forehead, gingerly placed the box between the wall and himself, then rolled over, facing outwards. Closing his eyes, Remus drifted off into sleep, softly smiling.

Roman took a little longer to fall asleep than usual. The silence was almost disturbing compared to the usual chattering and mumbling of the bunk below. The strange absence didn’t last too long: Soon enough the other side began to snore and mutter in his sleep.

_…Had he ever heard his brother snore?_

As Roman breathed a sigh of both annoyance and relief, his form grew heavy and dark before fading away entirely into an ocean of deep, peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Just started using this website as of today. I'm uploading my fics that I have up on tumblr to here (there are only two, so it's fine) so that anyone who might want to read this sort of thing has the opportunity to do so. This is the first fic that I ever uploaded online, and so I got very nervous and over-edited it, I think. I got kind of tempted to re-do it, looking through the piece while I was uploading it, but I'd rather move forward onto a new project. I hope you enjoyed reading!


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